


Chronicles of the Dragon

by insankan



Category: Haikyuu!!, mafia AU - Fandom
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Basically every team in Haikyuu!! is it's own mafia in Japan, F/M, Haikyuu!! Mafia AU, Hitman! Reader, I haven't decided who the main love interests will be so it's like an x everyone rn, I love the Nekoma captain too much, I love the idea of Haikyuu!! mafia AU lmfao that's why I wrote this, LOTS of violence, Reader-Insert, it's probably gonna be Kuroo ngl, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24801346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insankan/pseuds/insankan
Summary: Born and raised as a fourth generation hitman, (Surname) (Name) was a renowned hit-woman in the underground workings of Japan. For not being associated with one of the multiple mafias scattered throughout the country, she was the number one go-to for hits not involving the mafia. She had a strict policy of not getting involved with any mafia, as she worked for herself. But, what happens when she unknowingly accepts a hit on the Nekoma Godfather? A whole lot of bullshit, as she would put it.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Reader, Azumane Asahi/Reader, Bokuto Koutarou/Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Sawamura Daichi/Reader, Semi Eita/Reader, Sugawara Koushi/Reader, Tendou Satori/Reader, Terushima Yuuji/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Chronicles of the Dragon

“So, any clue as to why someone wants an old man dead?”

Sitting at the bar with a glass of water in her hand, (Name) examined the previously opened file closely. There was little details about who this man was or what he did to obtain a hit on him, just an address, a photo, and a down payment.

“Dunno. Three people have already turned it down, though,” the bartender dully replied, not looking up from the glass he was cleaning.

“Huh. Either a challenge or not enough pay, I’m assuming? Maybe a mix of both. Are you _positive_ there’s no more info on this guy?”

“(Surname). You know all the information they provide comes in that envelope. I don’t chat up people about why they want someone dead. Strictly anonymous,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Can’t blame you for that one, Tachibana-san. I guess I’ll take it,” she mumbled, tucking the small manila envelope into her jacket.

“Didn’t you tell me to not save you any hits because you were taking the weekend off?” he questioned, turning to set down the now clean glass and pick another up.

“Needed something to clear my mind. I didn’t have a good week, that’s for damn sure,” she groaned.

He chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Did the knife wound heal up alright?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t that deep, but it still hasn’t scarred over yet,” she suddenly stood up, pushing the almost empty glass towards him, “I’ll catch you later. For the rest of the payment, of course.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

She buttoned her peacoat closed as she pushed through the exit of the bar, the cool night air hitting her skin. Winter was just around the corner, and the nights just kept getting colder to her avail. Luckily, she had a winter stealth suit. She wasn’t new to the hitman business.

Being in a family of hitmen meant extensive training from a young age. She was homeschooled with top of the line private tutors by day, and trained in combat with some of the best hitmen in Japan by night. Her father helped train her to become one of the deadliest assassins in the country, and now she worked independently, taking jobs from a underground hitmen circuit stationed at the bar. Tachibana has faith in her when she first started, and helped immensely in getting her jobs. Having previous credit was a big thing when it came to the hitmen business, making it extremely hard for newbies to waltz in and make the big bucks. But, after years of hard work, people sought out her work, known as one of the deadliest hitmen, the Dragon. Her nickname came from the intricate dragon tattoo that was visible on the nape of her neck.

Once suited up for the mission, she began seeking out the address on the back of the man’s photo. He was nicely dressed in the photo, with graying hair, assumedly in his 60’s or 70’s. He looked just like a happy old man, but she wasn’t about to take a personal liking to the old man. No hard feelings to the guy, but it wasn’t her place to pity them. He must e done _something_ bad enough to get a hit placed on him.

Climbing up to a nearby roof, she staked out the house, seeing it was a rather wealthy looking one. She began pulling her sniper rifle from it’s case, making sure all the individual parts were in their proper place. She loaded exactly one bullet into it, because _she never missed her mark_.

She waited until she saw a car pull into the driveway, watching as her target exited from the driver’s seat. _Score, he’s alone._ Lying on her stomach at the edge of the roof, she began lining up her shot. Pressing her right eye to the scope, she decided her shot would be when he stood still to unlock his door.

Her finger hovered over the trigger, eyes focused on him as he slowly made his way to the front door. She took a deep breath, pressing her eye back up to the scope, and prepared to shoot.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Fuck-!”

(Name) groaned as the impact against her head forced her to let go of her rifle and roll onto her side. She heard a small click and felt the barrel of a gun be pressed against her temple.

“If you value your life, you’ll listen to me. Roll onto your back and place your hands behind your head.”

She slowly brought her hands to her head, gritting her teeth as she rolled onto her back. Hovering over her was a male, probably around the same age as her, wearing a black suit with a blood red vest. His hair seemed to have an awful dye job, the black roots grown out immensely against the bright blonde. His stare was ever-so intimidating though, seemingly holding no care for whether she were to live or die through this.

The hand that wasn’t holding his handgun snaked up to his ear, probably to an earpiece hidden by his chin-length hair.

“I found a girl. No, dumbass, not just any girl. She has a sniper rifle. Yeah. Yeah. Someone probably sent her. Can you help? I’m on the second building across the street from the base. Okay,” he mumbled before kneeling next to her, “Huh. Sucks to be you.”

He suddenly whipped his handgun upwards and brought it down hard on her forehead, knocking her out almost instantly. Her vision quickly faded to black, mentally cursing herself for not looking further into this hit.

* * *

(Name) suddenly woke up, a throbbing pain radiating from her forehead. A bright fluorescent light violated her eyes, forcing them to open and adjust to the new environment she was in. She glanced around, registering that she was in a basement of sorts due to it’s windowless nature. Her hands were tied behind her back to a chair, and she quickly realized she had been stripped of all her hidden weapons. She felt dried blood on her forehead, presumably from the impact of the back of the gun earlier. A groan of pain escaped her lips as she attempted to shift to a more comfortable position on the wooden chair she was tied to.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Did you have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” a deep voice boomed from behind her, slightly startling her as she wasn’t aware anyone was in the room with her.

She only grumbled in response, the headache still blooming at full force in her skull. This was absolutely _wonderful._

“A lady should answer when she’s spoken to, right? Or did your mother teach you no manners?” he chuckled, walking into her vision.

He was a tall man with black hair that was spiked up, wearing a similar red and black suit to the guy she had seen earlier. She immediately connected the dots that she probably accidentally crossed into some _mafia’s_ territory, eliciting a very annoyed groan from her lips.

“God damnit. Of course no one was taking the job, he’s involved in the mafia,” she mumbled, mentally facepalming.

She was so fucked over right now.

“Taking the job, huh? You got a lot if explaining to do, princess. Thinking you can march on in unannounced and try to take down the _boss_ ,” he chuckled darkly, dragging a chair across the floor to sit directly in front of her, “So, who sent you?”

“Look, big guy, this is a whole load of mix ups. I’m a hitman, and we keep things a hundred percent anonymous in my business. I don’t _know_ who put a hit on him. Never have, never will. It’s just a part of the shtick. You mafia men don’t get the art of-“

_Smack._ His gloved hand struck across her face to shut her up, a very annoyed look on his face.

“I’m not _asking_ you, princess. Don’t give me one of your practiced monologues, just _tell me_. I don’t want to hurt that cute little face of yours anymore than I have to,” he said, roughly pinching one of her cheeks.

“I’m not hiding anything, asshole. Anonymity is a huge part of the business. I don’t know who put a hit on your boss. You’re wasting your time with me, really.”

He frowned, placing his arms on the back of the chair (as he was sitting on it backwards) and placed his chin on them.

“Then, princess, you’re going to find out. Go return to your little middle man and come back with a name for me. Lev,” he said, snapping his fingers, “Let’s make sure we send her back _nice_ _and pretty_ so they know what’s gonna happen to them. And also, so she knows that we’re not fucking around.”

“Are you serious? I’m not your fucking messenger-“

She was interrupted with a hard punch to her jaw, sending her head sideways.

Slowly looking up, her eyes met with a _very_ tall fella’s with gray hair, an almost cat-like face. A thin smile was worn on his face, making his demeanor even creepier.

“That’s a pretty tattoo you got there,” Lev said, wrapping his fingers around her neck.

“Tattoo?” the black-haired male said, perking up.

“Yeah, look,” he said, craning her neck painfully sideways, “A _dragon_.”

The other male stood up to look, and a dark chuckle escaped his lips.

“Oh, so _you’re_ that little dragon spunk hitman, aren’t you? I’ve heard the rumors, you’re a real force to be reckoned with, huh? Well, maybe when your not tied down to a chair,” he laughed haughtily, doubling over.

“Kuroo, don’t antagonize her too much. She probably doesn’t realize she’s in over her head,” the same quiet voice that knocked her out popped up from behind her, “Besides, what will her father think if he finds out we beat her up?”

“Wait, you all know my father-“

She was silenced with another punch to the face by Lev, this time directly on her cheekbone. In attempt to deal with the pain, she grit her teeth hard.

“He’ll tell her to not stick her nose in the Nekoma mafia next time, that’s for damn sure. I doubt he’ll have any sympathy to give her.”

Kuroo went back to his self-designated seat, pulling it back a bit before plopping down. His eyes were focused on Lev and (Y/N), a smug look on his face.

“Lev, what are you waiting for? Princess needs her lesson before she goes and finds us our culprit.”

He nodded, and suddenly his fist came flying into her stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs. She wheezed, but before she could catch her breath again, another one landed. It went on like this until she was coughing up blood, groaning from how much pain she was in. They couldn’t see it through the black of her clothing, but it seems her knife wound had reopened as well, as she felt an uncomfortable wet warmth began to pool on her abdomen.

“For fuck’s sake, are you trying to send me back dead?” she said, blood dribbling down her chin.

“I think that’s enough, Lev. They’ll get the message loud and clear. For you,” he said, scooting the chair uncomfortably close, grabbing her chin harshly to force her to look up, “I’ll give you two days, forty-eight hours, to find out who placed a hit on our old man. If not, we’ll kill _you_ in their place, got it princess?”

She narrowed her eyes in to a glare as much as she could now that her left eye was swelling shut, and muttered a _‘yes’_ under her breath. Seemingly pleased he let go of her chin, letting her head drop to look away.

“Yaku, Kenma, take care of princess and get her home safely. Time’s ticking, so you better not waste it for her.”

She heard the gentle _beep_ of a watch timer beginning, causing her to glance up from the ground. She saw the supposed leader wearing a shit-eating grin, looking at the watch on his arm. Someone began fumbling with her binds before cutting swiftly through the rope. Two men, assuming my Yaku and Kenma, grabbed each of her arms roughly and hoisted her up.

“Can I at least get the name of the guy who so _graciously_ had the shit beat out of me?” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

He chuckled darkly, bring his hand up to her face and gently swiping the blood from her chin.

“Kuroo Tetsuro. Better remember it, princess. I’ll see you in exactly... fourty-seven hours, fifty-three minutes, and twenty seconds.”

She kept her glare fixated on him before a blindfold was tied around her head, presumably to keep her whereabouts inside their hideout unknown. She was dragged off by the two men, and led to a car.

One of them muttered her address to someone else, alarming her immensely.

“Hey, wait, did you look through my shit?!”

“Yeah, (Surname)-san. I was kinda surprised you had your wallet on you,” a voice responded calmly, the same one that had knocked her out, “You seem a little too careless for your line of work.”

_At least they had manners_.

She grumbled, staying silent for the rest of the car ride. Although her hands weren’t bound, she decided not to test her luck any further. Besides, she was beyond too injured to put up a fight.

“We’re here. You can take off the stupid blindfold yourself,” a new voice grumbled as he opened the car door.

She was unceremoniously pushed out of the car before she got the chance to take off her blindfold, barely catching herself on her hands and knees. She groaned, peeling the blindfold off, and seeing it was still nighttime.

“Yaku, play nice,” a voice responded, naming the first.

“It’s not my fault she played with fire and got burnt, Kenma.”

“Yes, but she’s barely alive as it is. I’m going to help her to her door.”

Kenma knelt beside her, placing his hands under her armpits and hoisting her up. He made sure she stood steady before bringing one of her arms around his shoulders to walk her to the door.

She gritted her teeth in pain, the soreness starting to kick into her limbs. Once at the door, she turned to Kenma.

“Thank you... Kenma-san,” she said, genuinely appreciative of the little help she’s received.

“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing it for your sake,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking down the path.

Turning back to the door, she punched in the code and let herself in, almost collapsing once in the door. She would have to clean herself up before going on any kind of search.

Begrudgingly, she forced herself into the bathroom to shower and wrap up the reopened wound on her stomach. She was lucky that it didn’t reopen fully, and most of the stitching stayed in tact.

She wore an oversized t-shit and her underwear as pajamas for the night. Before heading to bed though, she gave herself one glance over in the mirror and winced at her appearance. A black eye was already showing up above a bruised cheek and jaw. Luckily, they had spared her any broken bones, but her chest and abdomen was beginning to be colored with an assortment of bruises. She sighed, hiking up her shirt to wrap gauze around her stomach to provide extra support for the reopened knife wound. Everything hurt, and she couldn’t wait to collapse into bed.

But, the next morning, she knew she’d have to work quickly to find whoever placed a hit on the Nekoma boss if she wanted to keep her life.


End file.
